The Next Generation:
Vol. 1 The Introduction
The bandit slips silently through a second-story window into the abandoned unlit warehouse, a bag flung over his back containing a substance even he knows not of. The man is masked, covered head to toe in black clothing. Stepping quietly across the grated level that frames the lower story, he locates a ladder and, with the sack still slung over his shoulder, carefully moves down it to the first level. Centered in the middle of the floor are an old decrepit desk, papers of many scattered atop it, and a rotating desk chair spun to the back; all is spotlit by a large light beaming from above. Approaching the center, the masked rogue man asserts clearly towards the backwards chair, "I got what you wanted, now where's my freaking money?" There is no movement to the desk chair. "Listen, cheapskate, I'm talkin' to you!" the masked thief exclaims angrily, slinging the pack off his shoulder and onto the crowded desk, forcing some of the documents to fall to the floor. "I did what you asked, now give me what you promised!" Again there is no response from the chair. The rogue is outraged enough to throw his hands across the beaten desk and revolve the chair himself. It spins rapidly to face him and he retrieves a gun tucked under his belt behind his back, hoisting his boot up to the edge of the desk to steady his shot. He aims the gun at the sitting man's head until he's aware someone already beat him to it. A heavy-set suited boss man, shot exactly between the eyes, sits dead at his own desk chair. The rogue gasps, lowering his gun and his booted foot to the floor.
"Oh, baby boy!" a girlish call comes from behind the rogue and he turns around swiftly, drawing back up and tightly grasping his Glock 43.
"Who's there?" he demands. Emerging into the light is a 5-foot tall teenage girl, disguised with a black mask over her eyes. She wears a black and pink patterned corset and shorts with dyed ponytails to match. She wouldn't have been as scary without the 6-foot long sledgehammer in her hand. Despite the weapon she's holding, the rogue first notices the Colt Anaconda Revolver tucked into her utility belt that is still letting off smoke from the last fire; his knowledge is vast when it comes to weapons and he recognizes the gun instantly. He also notices something peculiar about her mask: its small pointed tips on each side. It is modeled almost like bat ears. The girl leans her hammer against the front of her shoulder and back of her neck.
"Some men like to call me the lady of their dreams," the masked girl snickers, "or I go by Acro Bat. But it's really your choice."
The rogue reaches behind him to secure the bag in his possession while maintaining a tight grip on his firearm. Whatever is in this bag is obviously important enough to kill for. His employer was shot dead for its contents and he isn't about to just give it up willingly. The rogue demands, "Whadda ya want, little girl?"
"Don't get your panties in a bunch, toots," the girl says harshly in her New Jersey accent, differing from her previous bubbly persona. "We're only here so you can give us that little package of yours. And I'm talkin' 'bout the one in your hand, you naughty boy," she giggles.
"Wait," the rogue's eyes widen, "we?" Suddenly, a powerfully built Filipino man seizes the rogue from behind, wrapping his enormous arms around his shoulders and lifting him off the ground, causing him to release his weapon. He gives him one firm squeeze and several cracks echo throughout the warehouse, along with an agonizing yell. The Filipino drops the rogue abruptly and he slams to the ground with a thud!
"Aw, come on, Wife Beater! Don't break him already!" Acro Bat whines.
"Sorry," Wife Beater apologizes in a low, thick accent. Though he may have had a strapping body—8 feet tall with 17-inch thick biceps and 12-inch wide pectorals—he was hard to look at, with a face drooping on both sides of his mouth, his left ear, and his right eye. Formally known as Migo Andrada, he was a famous Filipino bodybuilder in his early twenties, making millions off of weight-lifting competitions around the world. Eventually his body couldn't develop any more muscle, so he, with the forceful recommendations from his manager and coach, decided to undergo in scientific, unqualified treatments. The experiments mutated his body exquisitely, but the side effects included heartburn, slight migraines, and an everlasting appearance that gave girls the sensation they were kissing a bulldog.
Wife Beater picks back up the man by the bag, which he continues to grasp. Acro wields back her hammer and squeals, "It's like a piñata! Let me have a crack at him!" Wife Beater holds the sack away from his gigantic body to ensure Acro won't slam his face in—he knows she would. The rogue shuts his eyes, bracing himself for Acro Bat's swing, but as soon as she pulls back her sledgehammer the rogue and the bag disappear out of thin air from Wife Beater's grasp. The two glance around quickly, seeking their target, until Acro spots something above at the second-story railing. A figure shadowed by the unlit upstairs clutches the sack from the other side of the metal railing while the rogue dangles from the outside.
"Damn you, Timebomb!" fusses Acro, "that's not fair!"
The dark figure takes his other hand and fidgets at something on his wrist. Then immediately the figure is gone and the rogue's hands are tied to the railing with a thin rope while his feet hang free. The figure then rematerializes under the huge light in the center of the warehouse with the sack clasped in his hand.
"I wanted to do that," pouts Acro.
In the light it is clear the figure does not quite have a distinct outline, but it takes the shape of what used to be a man. Seventeen years ago, a single father by the name of Harry Benjaminson lost his daughter to a midnight house invasion. Desperate to do anything to get his deceased five-year-old back, Dr. Ben dedicated himself to formulating a way to travel through the impossible. Six years later, he perfectively invented a device, replicated like a watch, to let the one wearing it manipulate time—stop it, reverse it, and fast-forward it. Returning back to that night, the doctor successfully saved his daughter from the intruders, but it wasn't enough for him. He needed to ensure it would not happen again. The doctor placed his daughter in a home he knew she'd be safe at and used his invention to move back before the assailants were born. Unfortunately, it was a risk for the time frame was before his own birth. The result of the travel took his form completely, erasing him from time and only recognizing him as a blurry figure. His daughter lived, but grew up believing her father was a coward who left her behind.
"Took ya long enough," Acro giggles to herself. Timebomb says nothing—though if he could he would say much—and tosses Wife Beater the sack. "Oh, so we're jus' gonna leave the poor guy hangin'?"
Acro's words didn't take long to resinate before a speeding arrow whirls up towards the rogue's tied hands, striking the rope with perfect precision to snag the tread just enough to snap the knot and send him falling 30 feet down to the floor, landing with an echoing wham! A shorter man with a lean figure, seeming in his early twenties, comes sauntering out of the shadows and into the light to meet the other three. He's wearing a tight zipped jacket, a blood red bandana tied over his mouth, and baggy nylon pants tucked in his thick black combat boots. His eyes are piercing yellow, like the eyes of a hawk or a black bird, and strapped on his right forearm is a miniature crossbow.
"Good job, The Atilliator," Wife Beater struggles to articulate.
The Atilliator rubs the top of his head, covered in bright blonde hair, with his gloved hand and sighs. "Can we jus' get this done with?" he leans down and pulls a cigarette from out his boot and rests it between two fingers.
"Always in a rush, huh baby?" Acro Bat teases The Atilliator while meandering over to Wife Beater and snatching the pack from his hand, catching him off guard. The four criminals huddle around Acro to peer at the inside of the bag. She opens the top of the sack slowly and a glowing strikes the group's faces. "Just what the doctor ordered," Acro utters before closing and hurling the sack over her shoulder, other hand still clutching the sledgehammer. "That Waller lady is gonna be so proud a' me!"
"Proud of you?" The Atilliator confronts, "Yea right! You didn't do nothing but unplug ya pie hole."
"Shut up, Archie! I don't wanna hear anotha peep outta you."
The Atiliator rolls his eyes away from Acro. The two bickered a lot, especially when they were younger. Both were runaway kids from their orphanage and began living on the streets of Gotham for their early years. Eventually they were found together and wanted by a kind lady, a former psychiatrist, who promised to give them whatever they wanted if they'd come work for her. The young boy and girl followed the woman to an old abandoned chemical plant and warehouse, and there they met a man they'd forever call a funny name. The woman, too. Although Archie was much older, the couple seemed to take a liking towards the little girl, who went by the name of Bebs. She remembers indefinitely the moment the man's lover turned to him and said, "Mr. J, isn't she just the sweetest thing ya eva saw! If we were to have a baby, I want it to look jus' like her." Unfortunately, the violence that took place after was something Bebs wanted to forget. The man with the green hair and slit smile struck his lover across the face more times than she could count. Through the years, before and after the couple's separation, the woman took responsibility for training and teaching the two children how to fend for themselves and get jobs done as efficiently (and violently) as possible. In time, Archie got tired of constantly being second best to his mentors and went searching for further training. He started living out on his own in secluded places, preferably in distant mountainous forests. He trained his eyes to adjust to night and obtained perfect aiming precision, later nicknaming himself after the crossbow crafters of the medieval times. Bebs, on the other hand, fought well after training. She became accustom to the woman's villainous lifestyle. She mastered many different acrobatic stunts she often performed on assigned jobs and achieved and improved the combat, shooting, and hammer swinging techniques of her mentor. Once old enough, Bebs and her trainer decided the jobs were too simplistic for Bebs, mainly because she needed something more challenging, but also to cease their boredom. They plotted to turn Bebs into the most dangerous weapon. They disguised her as a defenseless do-gooder who wanted nothing more than to become a hero. Bebs sought out the most-trained, richest hero in Gotham and he did not hesitate to take her under his wing. Referring to the billionaire as Mr. Wayne, Bebs trained for thirteen months nonstop under his care. She proved herself worthy enough to acquire the man's loyalty and a mask. When her training ended and she had built up enough of a respectable reputation, Bebs seized her mask, along with several batarangs and a grappling hook, and slipped away in the night to follow her destiny as a villain of Gotham. Because of the stunts Harley taught her and her training and mask from batsy, she obtained the label Acro Bat.
"We got what we came fo', boys," utters Acro. "Now it's time to blow this popsicle stand." She turns towards the huge metal doors in the darkness of the first story, one hand still on the bag slung over her shoulder.
"But what about the guy?" Wife Beater asks slowly, pointing to the rogue passed out on the floor.
"Oh, right," Acro mutters and rolls her eyes. "Tinder can take care of him."
At the call of her name, a glowing woman glides from out of the darkness of one of the warehouse corners and hovers in front of the beaten rogue. Her skin's radiance is blinding, emitting a bright yellow like the sun. No one quite knows where Tinder comes from and she doesn't intend to tell anyone, but many theorize. Most theories involve her originating from another planet or world, the most common theory being is she's a solar light being, otherwise known as a "Sun Angel." Typically, those who believe this assume she's a rare species of alien whose body heat absorbs as much warmth as possible and is fed and energized by the light from the sun, thus making it an attractive living space. No one wonders why she disembarked upon earth, but people suppose it was shortly after Superman's arrival to Metropolis.
Tinder's luminosity burns the rogue's eyes, forcibly making him squint. He tries looking at her face, but her eyes shine even brighter. Although her body is too sunlit to see what she's wearing, behind her clearly flows a shimmering golden colored cape. Either the rogue's mind is playing tricks on him or the woman is growing brighter and brighter the longer she levitates in front of him. The rogue strives to hold his head up and grumbles through a squinting face, "who the hell are you guys?"
Acro halts her strut and turns to him proudly to say, "we're the brand new suicide squad, baby. We'll tell Waller you say hi," and following that, Tinder waves a hand back and the rogue is instantly set aflame. Agonizing screeches reverberate around the warehouse as the rogue twists and turns on fire. Acro Bat smashes her sledgehammer between the two metal doors, breaking them open, and exits the warehouse. The others follow.
The Atilliator hangs back a bit and once the gang is gone he approaches the burning man. The man keeps thrusting his body about as his skin fades away in the heat, excruciating screams ringing in Archie's ears. Neither does The Atilliator attempt to rescue him nor take pity upon him, but calmly leans down to light the cigarette he's been holding. It begins to catch off the flames releasing off the burning man. Once lit, he gently places it between his lips and then saunters out the doors, leaving the man and the warehouse to blaze. By orders from Waller, the police later announce the rogue set the warehouse on fire in attempt to kill his employer and accidentally trapped himself within the flaming building. The bag was destroyed in the fire.